


not another cinderella au (but it is, a little)

by Emilys_Descent



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Castles & Kingdoms AU, Cinderella Elements, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, POV Derek Hale, Pre-Slash, Prince Derek Hale, Romance, Servant Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 18:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20018968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_Descent/pseuds/Emilys_Descent
Summary: In which there is a Ball, and there is Prince Derek, in really low spirits, and there is Stiles, the newest addition to the Castle's menial staff, and there is a garden in which banter is had, and dances done, and Derek teeters on the edge of a sudden realisation that, yes, there is such a thing as love at first sight.Or, love at first meeting, at the very least.(A Cinderella AU with a slight twist)





	not another cinderella au (but it is, a little)

**Author's Note:**

> this is a re-post of a work which got accidentally deleted
> 
> enjoy!

* * *

At Castle de Hale a Masked Ball was in progress, and the Crown Prince Derek, in whose honour this Ball had been given, had excused himself from the festivities by pretending to be feeling a little under the weather. He had fooled no one. His parents, the Imperial Couple, seated at their throne of eminence, watched his departure with heavy hearts and heavier sighs. His sisters, observing the sad slump of his back as it disappeared behind the velvet curtains, shook their heads in sympathy. The rest of the assembly, on the other hand, continued singing and dancing and enjoying the night without betraying the slightest bit of concern for the melancholy which beset the Royal Family, nor suffered that flagging of good cheer which generally accompanies a party when the guest of honour excuses himself with a countenance that is ‘sicklied o’er with a pale cast of thought’.

Derek walked slowly along the carpeted corridor, dragging himself like one who saw no ray of light on the horizon, even though the corridor, like the Castle, had been rendered as resplendent as humanly possible by the aid of numerous candles and paper lanterns. In his hands he held the mangled remains of the silver wolf mask which his sisters had conspired to spring on him when he had answered summons to their chambers that evening. He had been angry, he remembered, sighing deeply, almost shamefully: and he had let loose the torrent of emotion he had sedulously banked within himself ever since his parents, unbeknownst to him, had made the wretched announcement to the public that he, Prince Derek, owing to his evident inability to secure a spouse for himself, would select one from amongst the attendees of the Masked Ball.

“I will remain a bachelor for the remainder of my life,” he had sworn at them, as vehemently and as righteously as ever a Hale had sworn at his family, “rather than adopt this unspeakably idiotic mode of cherry-picking a life-partner at a ball as though dancing skills were all that one needed to ensure a successful marriage.”

“You are twenty-nine years old,” his mother had said in a tone in which motherly rebuke was tempered with motherly concern. She was so beautiful a specimen of the fairer sex, even at the advanced age of fifty-three, that it was almost impossible to look directly at her; annoyed sons, however, could tolerate. “You will inherit the throne when you turn thirty, which is but a couple of months away. Now you don’t need to be married to inherit your birthright, but it is also a fact that once you become King you will have even less time to devote to your needs and ambitions than you do at the moment. If you think life as the Crown Prince is no walk in the park, then life as King is a million times worse – it is practically a walk on hot coals and broken glass for as long you breathe. Your duties to your people, as the guardian of their well-being, will always supersede your personal desires. And while I do not doubt your virtues, your morality, your strength, and your self-reliance, a King needs that kind of support which only an equal can provide.

“Do you think we enjoy making your life miserable?” she had continued, waxing maudlin, as was her wont when left to continue unchecked, “This ball, hate it as much as you may but you still wouldn’t hate it as much as I do, is an act of desperation. From the stable-boy to the Chancellor of Exchequer, everybody knows that this is the Royal Family at its most desperate. Not one of us likes it: Laura had threatened us with denouncement when we put this idea to her; but she, too, was forced to concede the practicality of it.”

“Please don’t suppose that we want to arrange a marriage for you,” his father, hitherto staying patiently silent by his mother’s side, had spoken up. He was a giant of a man, contained in a robust frame, with a heart just as big. “But you must admit that your romantic life is as dry as Cora’s wit – and just as badly in need of a polishing. Ever since that debacle with the Argent Princess – may she rot in whatever dungeon she ended up in! – you have closed yourself to everything that a man of your age and temperament, least of all your station, should be enjoying. She was admittedly a bad egg; but not all eggs you meet in the course of your life are going to be as bad as her. You’ve stopped trying. You’ve stopped living, my son. And this,” he had concluded with a depressing sweep of his hand, “is the price you pay.”

If there was one thing Derek hated more than the thought of his family plotting behind his back, even though it was supposedly for his own good (and which evidently resulted in nothing more sophisticated than a Masked Ball), it was the thought that he was the source of their unhappiness and discontent. From childhood upwards he had disliked being anything in the form of a nuisance to anyone, be it his attendants, his tutors or his subjects; his obedience, from infancy to adulthood, had known no equal. He had given in to their entreaties, accordingly, and having allowed his sisters to fasten the threads of the silver wolf mask round his face, he had made his way toward the Inaugural Hall where the Ball was shortly to commence, with a smile as manufactured as the paper rose in the lapel of his navy blue coat.

All things considered, he thought he had behaved remarkably well.

The corridor terminated in a wide hall, illumined by artificial lights and light more natural, this being an open space bordered only with high stone walls, and his feet turned almost unconsciously in the direction of the Imperial Garden where he hoped to spend the rest of this blighted night in undisturbed isolation.

It was now the sweetest hour of the twenty-four, when the latent beauties of a summer night begin to unfold beneath the auspices of a brilliant moon, and if you ignored the infernal din and bustle of the celebration which could be heard over the natural hush and serenity of the deepening twilight, it could almost answer to Earth’s definition of Paradise.

Derek walked deeper into the Garden, to the place he was always naturally drawn when in search of solitude. There was an arbour in the heart of it which was surrounded by manicured hedges high enough – and sturdy enough – as to constitute walls; and in the near-absolute seclusion of this embowered haven, as he sat himself down on the white marble and let out a whistling sigh, Derek felt finally at peace.

But not completely at peace. A nature like Derek’s is never entirely devoid of that fretful restlessness which dogs anyone who has the wealth and power of an empire at his command, but feels profoundly undeserving of it.

He had turned twenty-nine quietly a few months ago, having sternly apprised every member of his family of his intention to pass the momentous occasion in an entirely ordinary manner, and that any attempt at embellishment or aggrandizement would be met with swift, thorough and ruthless scolding. He could not remember the last time he had taken those pleasure trips through the towns and country for which the Hale Empire was so justly renowned, a favourite pastime he had been fond of indulging in his more spirited youth.

And indeed, he had put an absolute end to all forms of romantic or sexual entanglement after his traumatic experiences with that Argent witch. He hadn’t so much as looked at anyone askance since that devastating episode.

For devastating it had undoubtedly been.

In the spring of his novel adulthood, Princess Katherine Argent had alighted on the Castle grounds, and in Derek’s susceptible heart, in much the same way as an angel descends on Earth to deliver mortals of their unjust suffering. That it was not an angel they were welcoming in their midst but a devil in disguise, the serpent of Paradise preparing to poison their earthy garden, was a matter which would disclose itself gradually over the course of her accursed visit, but not before she had seduced, ensnared and ultimately crushed the Crown Prince in every which way a man could be seduced, ensnared and ultimately crushed.

After her unmasking, and in the wreckage of his first love sprinkled with the ashes of his self-respect, Derek had vowed never to let himself fall in love again, to never approach that shameful, debilitating depth of vulnerability from which it is impossible to recover. Heads wiser than his own, and hearts more compassionately disposed, had advised him not to become quite so forbiddingly misanthropic, that a better course of action would be to be watchful of snakes in the grass but to also be willing to take calculated risks when chance presented itself – but he had paid them no mind.

If no one around him had blamed him for his blind, misguided passion, he had blamed himself, and would continue to do so for a long time.

The gloomy nature of the musing to which Derek had delivered himself was presently broken by a song being sung in his vicinity, not just loudly but also out of tune. For a moment Derek listened to it, supposing it was merely an echo of the revelry in progress inside the Castle, but the more he heard, and the more he winced to himself at the abysmal display of such an utter want of the musical spirit, the more convinced he was that it was not a reverberation but an actual someone fine-tuning their voice somewhere near him.

Tracing the voice to its source, Derek found himself staring in frozen fascination at a man, or rather a boy, for he looked quite young, belting out an old rambunctious number at the top of his lungs, and entertaining, so it seemed to the baffled Prince, a garden rake, its long iron teeth pointed outward, to a lively dance.

“Do you have any idea how much noise you’re making?” said Derek, loudly so as to be heard because the boy, as Derek took a step closer, plunged into a spectacularly cacophonous chorus.

Watching the rake fly out of the boy’s hands, and watching the boy himself jump three feet into the air with a comical shriek of surprised terror so mouse-like, Derek felt for a moment that he should have announced his presence in a more dignified manner. It would be the height of embarrassment, he mused to himself, if in the process of honing your vocal abilities to the pitch and tone of a nightingale in a place where such an activity, however lofty, might be rudely and abruptly interrupted, you discover that in addition to such an interruption occurring out of the blue, the person who had thus encroached your practice session happened to be none other the Crown Prince himself.

“What do you think you are doing?” he asked, frowning as grandly as befit a Prince.

Horrendous singing aside, Derek was man enough to admit that the sight of this boy – man! – was not quite on par with what he had been conjuring on the strength of the latter’s vocal prowess (or a lack thereof) alone. Close enough now to observe, he found himself curiously pleased to see two liquid amber eyes wide open in shock, and lips, being open in shock as well, as full and sensuous as he had ever seen in his life. An upturned nose, with the faintest hint of arrogance, or perhaps an abundance of self-confidence, and cheeks a cherry red completed this breathtaking vision that could in theory have launched a dozen ships, if not really a thousand.

“I was... singing,” answered the boy, understandably sheepish. “And dancing.”

“I don’t know what you were doing, but you certainly were not doing either.”

“Well,” said the boy, his eyes narrowing a shade, “not all of us can afford human partners. I was simply making do. I’ll have you know that Linda,” here he pointed to the rake which had landed some distance away from them, “was a perfect gentleman. Lady. Lady Gentleman.”

“Why are you dancing out here? Shouldn’t you be inside? That at least would help solve the problem of you not being able to afford human partners. I am given to understand that there is a marked superfluity of humanity inside.”

“Um, you can see me, can you not?” said the boy, gesturing by the aid of elfin hands to the whole of himself – the poor, shabby whole.

Not that it had escaped Derek’s notice. The boy seemed to be dressed, if one was feeling particularly generous, in clothes which for the lack of a better word could only be called rags.

"Regardless,” Derek pressed. “The invitation was for all eligible persons who were unmarried at the time of the announcement. I don’t remember there being sartorial specifications. You were at liberty to attend the Ball in whatever clothes you chose to wear, provided you had a mask.”

The boy chuckled. “That is such a princely thing to say.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I know who you are. You are His Highness Crown Prince Derek Hale, Heir Presumptive of the Hale Empire. I’d be a sorry employee if I didn’t know the name of my future employer.”

There was an obvious, decided cheek in the manner in which he spoke, but far from being annoyed, as he usually would be – jesting about the royalty had once upon a time been a punishable offence, scrapped by his great-grandfather because it was ‘ridiculous’ – Derek found it quite appealing.

“What is your name?”

“Well. Down in the Kitchens I am called ‘you there, peel the potatoes!’ or ‘you there, why aren’t you chopping onions? I told you a million years ago to get started on them!’ or ‘you there, take the trash out!’ Take your pick.”

“You work in the Kitchens?”

“Yup. I am the help. The food you eat has most likely been washed, peeled and chopped up by yours truly.”

Derek nodded, at a loss to do anything else. He had never interacted with the menial staff beyond the usual ‘congratulating the cook on a fine course of meal’ kind of way. He had never spared any serious thought to the machinery of the culinary services.

“What do you call yourself when you are not working?” he asked. “You must have some time to yourself, don’t you?”

“If you insist... when I am all by myself I like to call myself Stiles.”

“Stiles? That is an unusual name.”

“It’s no ‘His Highness Crown Prince Derek Hale, Heir Presumptive of the Hale Empire’. I’ll give you that.”

“You still haven’t answered my question... Stiles,” said Derek slowly, testing out the name on his lips. Odd name; bizarre even, suggesting a mysterious undertone, but perhaps apt. “Why aren’t you at the Ball?”

“I am at the Ball.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Why aren’t you inside where it is actually taking place?”

Stiles shrugged nonchalantly. “Didn’t feel like it. Why aren’t you?”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

Stiles grinned, and Derek, if reluctantly, smiled.

“The Ball is in your honour,” said Stiles after a moment of companionable silence. “Should you be sneaking off like this in the middle of the proceedings? Is it _proper_?”

“I am, as you said, a Prince. I can do whatever I want. I can sneak out like this in the middle of the proceedings if I so desire, proper be damned.”

“Of course you can. I don’t doubt that. You are indeed the Crown Prince and you can in fact do anything you want. But everyone inside that Hall came this evening with the hope that the Prince would choose one of them for a life-partner. How are they going to feel when that doesn’t happen? They kept up their end of the bargain. Shouldn’t you do the same? Meet them halfway?”

“They were mistaken.”

“It was in the official announcement on behalf of His Majesty the King.”

This pricked the wound. “Then His _Majesty_ ,” said he sharply, “had no right to make such an announcement.”

After a moment of silence, during which Derek chided himself for snapping at Stiles, Stiles ventured a wary, “Is it really so bad?”

Derek sighed heavily. “You seem like a sensible person,” said he. He ignored the snort Stiles uttered and continued, “What do you think? Is this the right way to go about looking for someone you would want to spend the rest of your life with? This is stupidity of the meanest kind.”

“Stupid? Probably. But is it entirely without merit?”

“How am I supposed to decide who suits me, and the kingdom (for anyone I choose would rule beside me), best, simply on the basis of a dance and a conversation of less than five minutes?”

“It’s no worse than any other way, because each comes with its own shortcomings. A dance, for instance, could tell you that they are at least physically sound, and a five minute talk, if used sensibly, could be as revealing of one’s nature as, say, a year’s worth of enforced intimacy. You just have to know how to... spin it, as it were.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, Stiles.”

Stiles chewed his lips thoughtfully. “Do you have someone you like? Is that what’s bugging you? Do you have a – how do you say it – um, a _paramour_?”

“No.”

“Then why not give it a go? Even if you don’t end up with your hands full of the future Consort, at least you’ll be satisfied that you tried.”

It was a variation on the theme on which his family had been harping in the interval leading up to the Ball. What harm was there in trying, they had asked him, each in their special turn. If this outrageous enterprise ended up as a seed that bore no fruit, you would be in no worse condition than you were before.

An argument – an appalling argument, for he had long ago washed his hands of all sentimentality – had bubbled up in his head at once - 

‘You want to fall in love. This antiseptic method of finding partner suits you ill. It makes you ill to think about. The thought of a stranger’s touch fills you with a loathing you cannot express in words, so to bind yourself to one for as long as you live is something entirely out of your power to do. The spectre of Kate Argent haunts every decision you make. It has been eight years since she was booted out of the kingdom, out of your life, and yet you have not been able to move on. You want to. You want to be better; you know you are capable of it. You yearn for that trust, that love, and that friendship which exists between your parents. Your heart – your soul burns for it, for you are a passionate man and can only unite yourself with one who will answer in kind.’

He betrayed no hint of what he was thinking, however; he gave voice to none of his musings, want as much as he did. He held his silence and Stiles, perhaps sensing the change in his demeanour, kept his own.

Could he ever truly bury the ghost of his past? Was there a guaranteed way of knowing that if he took a chance at love again – a chance at life again – that he would not live to regret it? It terrified him into stupefaction to think that History, if he were not mistrustful and vigilant all the time, would repeat itself and perhaps engender a worse catastrophe. Logically he knew that no one could be as bad as Kate Argent: the particular brand of villainy of which she exposed herself the mistress was beyond the power of any human being. Why, therefore, did he find it so difficult to trust anyone? How had he allowed himself to be so thoroughly, so irredeemably damaged at the hands of that witch that he no longer believed in the goodness of humanity and the bonds of kindness which differentiate us from the lower animals?

A far graver question intruded his cogitations now: what kind of a King would he make when he couldn’t trust his own people? How would he serve them to the best of his abilities if he was always suspecting them of foul-play? Continued in this vein, he would imagine poisoned chalices where he was offered drinks of gratitude, and daggers tipped in venom where there were only grateful and heartfelt smiles.

A change, he concluded, was imperative. He could not live like this. He could not continue to exist as the pathetic victim of Kate Argent all his life. He could not be a King worthy of his people if he took no measures to better himself, because the phantom of his wounded past would not disappear on its own: he would have to actively try to smother it beneath a better and happier present and a hopeful future.

He looked at Stiles standing awkwardly in front of him, and thought two things: one, there was no time like the present to embark on new things, and two, Stiles did not seem like the kind of person who should be forced stand still and silent to oblige a depressed member of the Royalty.

And thus it was that Derek, recovering his better nature, stepped closer to Stiles and put forward his right hand.

It was an amusing sight, watching Stiles’ eye bulge and flit from his hand to his face and back again.

“Come on,” Derek insisted, wriggling his fingers in a gesture he hoped was inviting. “Don’t make me wait.”

“I can’t dance with you!”

“Why can’t you? Am I that unappealing?”

“This is no moment for joking, Your Highness.”

“Derek. You will address me as Derek and only Derek while we are alone. I want to dance with an equal, not a subordinate. Hurry up!”

“This is not proper! You are a Prince! I am a servant! Princes and servants aren’t supposed to dance together!”

“Yes, Stiles, thank you for reminding me of our respective stations in life. But how about you let me worry about what is proper and what isn’t? All I want,” said Derek, leaning a little and gently, for Stiles still seemed rather recalcitrant to the idea, took hold of his hand and brought their bodies together. “All I want, Stiles,” he repeated softly, winding his left hand round Stiles’ waist, “is to forget who we are at this moment, and just dance. Can you do that for me? I have had a trying day, and this is a beautiful night. Let’s not waste it by worrying about things that don’t, when you think about it, really matter.”

“This is madness,” Derek heard Stiles mutter to himself as he gingerly put his right hand on Derek’s shoulder. “I am so going to pay for this.”

“You will pay for this.”

“What?!” Stiles yelled, drawing back.

“Well, you are the one who made me see the error of my ways, so to speak.”

“I did no such thing! I would never presume to do such a thing! I don’t make people see the error of their ways, especially if they are Princes!”

"Did you not say that I should at least give it a go?” Derek whispered into the shell of Stiles’ ear. “That even if didn’t end up with the future Consort, I would have the satisfaction of knowing that I tried? Is your memory so faulty that you forgot something you said mere minutes ago, Stiles?”

“Fine! Fine, you – !”

“It’s no use calling me names now,” interrupted Derek, feeling lighter than he had ever before. “You have no one but yourself to blame for this. Shall I begin?”

For all that he lacked proper training in the various forms of dance, Stiles was a better partner than anybody with whom Derek had had the misfortune of dancing that night. There were missteps, naturally, and there was much stepping on the other’s toes, but Stiles proved a quick and an almost jealous learner, one who aims to outsmart his master, and before he knew it, Derek, though he would never admit it, was in the middle of enjoying what was without question one of the most pleasurable nights he had had in a long time.

“You are doing very well,” he observed and smiled when Stiles’ cheeks turned red.

“Shut up,” Stiles muttered, keeping his eyes fastened on his feet.

“You can look at me, you know. I am told I’m quite the specimen. Everyone I have ever met has taken the trouble to inform me of my breathtaking handsomeness.”

Stiles looked up at him with a censorious frown. “That isn’t something one should brag about.”

Up close Stiles eyes, which had been remarkably beautiful even at a distance, seemed to exert an almost supernatural influence over Derek. He could not look away. A beguiling mixture of amber and honey, when roused to spirit there would appear a spark in those orbs, like flames of fire flashing like lightning.

“Who named you Stiles?” he asked, after an interval of tranquil silence had lapsed between them.

“I can’t remember. It’s all anyone has called me as far back as I can think.”

“What about your parents?”

“They passed away a long, long time ago. Before I knew what parents even were.”

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Stiles assured him, smiling kindly, and probably choosing to ignore how Derek’s arm around him tightened a bit. “My life as it is, is very fulfilling. I have a job that I like doing, and I have friends who love me as deeply as I love them. I have nothing to complain about. All in all, I’d say I am rather lucky. It’s not that difficult, you know,” he added mischievously, “being happy.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. Not at all. The secret to being happy, if you care to know, lies in how hard you try to be happy.”

“It’s a struggle, you mean. Nothing can change if you don’t try to. Your misery will remain that unless you take active measures to rid yourself of it. Is that what you are trying to say?”

“Correct. You are not quite as dim as I imagined at first.”

“I live to baffle expectations,” said Derek wryly. “Your point about happiness notwithstanding, it must have been difficult growing up without parents.”

“One can’t really compare. Would it have been easier growing up if I had parents? I don’t know. Perhaps. Perhaps not. What if they were horrible people who had not a shred of kindness in them? What if they stole money, ate raw meat, and murdered little babies on the night of the full moon?”

“Is that really what you think your parents were like?”

“Of course not. My parents, whoever they were, must have been the best of the best, overflowing with the milk of human kindness. But I try not to think about that too much. Makes it really difficult to get through the day if I’m bawling my eyes out in a darkened corner of my room all the time, you know?”

He did not know, but sensing the need for a change of subject, he asked, “Why didn’t you come inside? Why were you out here all by yourself? No offence to... Linda, was it? But I can honestly say that you would have had better luck in terms of dancing partners if nothing else.”

“I told you,” said Stiles, flushing darkly.

"I could hazard a guess as to why you didn't want to, though I'd like to think someone as sensible as you wouldn't be _driven_ away by -”

“Well, think what you will, I did feel a little self-conscious about my clothes. Not really the kind that gets one acceptance or admittance into a royal event.”

“I told you –”

“Regardless of what you told me, Derek,” said Stiles firmly. “You are a kind man, and on the strength of that alone I can guarantee that you will make a fine King. I can see that. But there are such things as social etiquette and rules of engagement. If I had simply barged as I am, I would have been the talk of that Ball, and not in a good way. I only spared myself the torture of that humiliation.” 

“Not that you lost much.”

This surprised a laugh out of Stiles, and his expression lost some of its solemnity. “Yes, not that I lost much.”

“At the risk of sounding boastful, had you attended the Ball I would have danced with you without a doubt.”

Stiles smiled at him. “Perhaps to make a point you would.”

“Not just to make a point. Do you really think me that shallow, Stiles?”

“No. _No_. If anything, you are alarmingly deep.”

“I am going to take that as a compliment.”

“You would.”

Derek laughed.

The anguish of earlier hours shoved firmly at the back of his mind, he wondered what kind of picture they made, he and Stiles, standing in the middle of the Imperial garden silvered by the moonlight, not so much dancing as merely swaying to and fro in the cool night breeze, bouncing repartees off of each other, and lest one forget it, staring into each other’s eyes as though they might never get a chance to see each other again.

It was that last realisation which caused him, his heart atwitter all of a sudden, to say the following words:

“Say you were at the Ball, and I saw you and asked you to dance, and at the end of it I told everyone that I had found the one with whom I would like to spend the remainder of my life. How would you react?”

Stiles let out a snort of disbelief. “I’ll probably decline.”

“You would? Why? Do you not like me?”

“It isn’t only a matter of personal like and dislike. If it were I’d jump into your arms in a heartbeat, because you are indeed quite the specimen. But you said yourself. You are the Prince. Whomever you choose would have to sit beside you on the throne and rule. Flattered though I would be, really, I don’t think I would be suited for the running of a kingdom. So I will politely decline.”

“You won’t be running it alone, Stiles. You would have me, and my family, and an entire cabinet of ministers to guide you.”

“You are simplifying a complex issue.”

“You are seeing problems where there are none.”

“Why are we arguing about this? It’s a hypothetical situation that doesn’t have a chance of ever becoming reality.”

But the situation wasn’t as hypothetical as Stiles in his humility was averring it to be, Derek thought wistfully, diverted into that line of thinking. Had Stiles been in attendance at the Ball, Derek in all likelihood would have missed him completely: one never can keep track of any one person in the hustle and bustle of a room packed to the gills, and packed to the gills with everyone wearing masks as tonight had been.

But if there had been the slightest, barest, faintest possibility of their paths crossing in that crowded Hall, Derek preferred to think that he would have picked Stiles without the waste of words or time.

He kept these musings to himself. A careless remark would have Stiles running for the hills. It occurred to Derek that the idea of being liked by someone like him - not just Derek, an ordinary human, but Crown Prince Derek - did not exist in Stiles’ mind even as a possibility. If Derek in a fit courage told him, ‘Stiles, I like you. What do you think about that?’ matters standing how they stood, Stiles would laugh it away with an insincere: ‘I like you too, Derek. Imagine that!’ Groundwork would need to be laid before anything in the nature of a confession could make its way out his mouth.

He would get started on that tomorrow.

For tonight he would enjoy the feeling of not having his past be so heavy on his shoulders. For tonight he would content himself with the knowledge that he could be happy, as Stiles said to him, if he tried hard enough, and content himself, too, with having Stiles only as a dancing partner.

Time would come, of course, when he would show up in the labyrinthine depths of the Royal Kitchens and politely enquire if the Head Chef could spare Stiles for the remainder of the day, and the Chef would not refuse him because he could not in his wildest dreams ever think of refusing the Crown Prince anything, and Stiles, having gotten over his initial surprise of finding Derek after mere hours of parting, would be all indignation at him for taking liberties with his job, and Derek, having already anticipated such a reaction, would be humility and sincerity incarnate, and by dint of cajoling and subtle compliments (for Derek could be crafty when he wanted), and by such skillful maneuvering of conversation which would defy comprehension of the most expert politician, he would win Stiles over before the afternoon sun gave indication of having done for the day; and he would repeat this course of action the next day, and the next, and the one after, and so on and so forth, until one particular day, and on that hallowed ground where he had heard such a horrible display of singing and been witness to equally pathetic dancing, and realised that, yes, happiness could be his if he would only reach for it, and to Stiles’ surprise, to his confusion, to his hesitation, and finally, ultimately, joyfully, to his acceptance, Derek would lay his heart open and give voice to such feelings as he had been suppressing within himself, and he would make Stiles see that in joining his lot with Derek’s he would not be making a mistake, because Derek would love him as long as there was breath in his lungs and he would care for him for as long as there was strength in his arms, and that he would do all that was in his power to make him as happy as Stiles made him, that no two people could ever hope to be as happy and in love as Derek was certain they would be, if only, if only Stiles would take that leap with him, if only he would yes.

For tonight, however, Derek decided he would only enjoy and be content.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I found the original end note that got deleted with this fic previously:
> 
> "It so did not turn out the way I envisioned it - but that's one of the joys of creative fiction. I wanted there to be a kiss between Derek and Stiles in the garden but the tone of the narrative, and indeed, Derek's psychological health, did not permit it. With the way things were, the only physical activity I could allow them together was dance.
> 
> And dance they did the whole damn night - if anyone's wondering.
> 
> I also wanted to include a sort of postscript to the story about Derek's sisters finding him dancing and smiling and even laughing with a mysterious person and reporting it to the King and Queen. It would have been a small scene and ended with the Queen saying, in response to her daughters' concern that the mysterious man, judging by his clothes, was penniless, "I don't care about that. How shallow do you suppose I am? As long as he is kind and loves my son as unconditionally as he deserves, I should have no objection to their union whatsoever." The King and his daughters rejoice and raise a glass to the adage that all's well that ends well, in reference to the Ball.
> 
> I scrapped it from the main story because it didn't fit the flow."
> 
> You can't imagine how I happy I am to have recovered this!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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